


Pants?

by totallyrandom



Series: Stiles is Trans, Dude [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Derek Hale Comforts Stiles Stilinski, Derek comforts Stiles when Scott can't, FTM Stiles Stilinski, Fluff, Gen, High School Student Stiles Stilinski, LGBTQ, M/M, Stiles Stilinski Has a Bad Day, The Hale House, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, Trans Stiles Stilinski, and a bit of yelling, in a particularly Derek-y way, it mostly involves silence, pre-slash probably
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-25
Updated: 2017-03-25
Packaged: 2018-10-10 07:57:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10432980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/totallyrandom/pseuds/totallyrandom
Summary: Stiles gets shoulder-checked into his locker by Jackson first thing in the morning. Things just get worse from there.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: Very brief sexist/transphobic comment from Mr. Harris because he’s a shithead.

Stiles gets shoulder-checked into his locker by Jackson first thing in the morning. Things just get worse from there.

Harris asks the class if any _ladies_ need to be excused from the blood-typing experiment because--and he says this looking right at Stiles--“some people are squeamish.” Stiles wants to smack the smirk right off his face but instead just jabs the lancet into Scott’s finger with way more force than required. He tries not to be annoyed that Scott doesn’t even flinch. 

Laughing so hard at lunch that he snorts Dr. Pepper out his nose--well, no one could have predicted that, since it’s the first time Stiles has ever found Isaac funny. At all. And he wasn’t even being funny on purpose. Stiles bangs his head on the cafeteria table to distract himself from the burning in his nose. 

The cleats jammed into his thigh during lax practice really does it, though. (Jackson again, of course.) And Stiles is just fucking _done_. He screams more out of frustration than pain and stomps off the field, leaving in his wake a trail of helmet, gloves, shin guards, and drops of blood that fall when his thigh flexes as he walks. Scott dutifully picks up his gear and waits quietly in case Stiles wants to talk. 

He most definitely does _not_ want to talk--not even to tell Scott that he doesn’t want to talk. But Stiles knows that Scott can tell. Scott’s an oblivious idiot most of the time nowadays, so it catches Stiles off-guard when he switches back to mind-melding-best-friend mode out of the blue. 

Stiles lets out a long sigh and slaps Scott on the back in silent thanks as he pushes him back toward the door to go finish practice. Scott bumps their elbows gently before running out. 

Stiles peels out of the school parking lot and gets three blocks away before he realizes he can’t go home yet. His dad’s on nights all week and Stiles knows he’ll never manage to sneak into the house without waking him up. He punches his steering wheel with a growl and bangs a U-turn. Feeling less murderous after 3 burgers and some onion rings, he drives aimlessly for a while until he can’t ignore the throbbing in his thigh anymore. Still another two hours to kill before his dad’s alarm. The tears surprise him, but at least Harris isn’t there to make fun of him. 

He just wants to curl up with an ice pack and a fistful of Advil, but he blew his last twenty on dinner, so he heads toward Scott’s. He doesn’t want a mom lecture about dealing with bullies, but he’s pretty sure Melissa would believe he tripped and fell on his cleats in the locker room. It's a little surprising that he hasn’t done that yet, actually. It’s really fucking not his day, though, so her car isn’t in the driveway. And he hopes to never set foot in that hospital again, so he's out of options. 

The throbbing has almost stopped by the time Derek finds him muttering quietly and throwing rocks at the side of the old burned-out house.

“The hell, Stiles!” 

Stiles startles and drops a rock on his toe. “Fuckity fuck!” 

“What are you doing.” 

“Letting my dad sleep in,” he says, throwing another rock. 

“What.” 

“Not ripping out Jackson’s spine.” Another rock. 

“ _What_.” 

“Not stabbing Harris in the face.” Another. 

“Stiles!” 

“C’mon, dude. You don’t even live here anymore. You can’t ‘Get off my lawn’ me right now.” 

Derek grabs his wrist before he can let another rock fly. Surprised, Stiles lets it slip from his grasp. Derek doesn’t let go, though, pulling him away from the rather impressive mound of rocks he had spent half an hour collecting. 

He swats at Derek’s arm, but he can’t escape the vice grip until Derek lets him go with a push, bumping Stiles into the rickety porch steps. He lets himself collapse with a grunt and a murderous glare. 

Derek’s nose twitches and he frowns, silent as his eyes scan Stiles. “You’re bleeding.” 

“Shit! Again?” 

Derek just raises an eyebrow at that. 

“Caught some stray cleats with my leg at practice today. I thought it stopped.” 

“Show me.” 

“Ha ha. Funny, big guy.” 

Derek just folds his arms across his chest and waits. 

“It’s nothing some Advil wouldn’t fix. … If I had some Advil. Or money to buy Advil. Or a friend to bum some Advil from. Or if I thought I could lift some from the 7-11 without getting caught. Or if the nurse’s office were still open. Or if I still had the master key to the school. Or … No, that’s it I think.” 

Derek sighs. “Show me.”

“It’s on my _thigh_ , Derek.”

“And?” 

“And I’m not fucking dropping trou in front of _you_. In the middle of the _woods_. On a _school night_.” 

“School night?” 

“I don’t know! It seemed relevant!” 

“Might be infected.” 

“Nah. Just happened. I’ll pour some hydrogen peroxide on it when I get home and then slather it with Neosporin. It’ll be fine.”

Derek huffs and stalks toward him, lips pressed in a thin line. He yanks Stiles up by the arm and just points at his thigh. Stiles tries to sit back down but Derek’s too fast for him. 

“Me, your dad, hospital. Pick.” 

Stiles stares daggers at him but Derek’s not budging. His shoulders slump and he nods dejectedly. “Turn around at least.” 

“What.” 

“Just … c’mon, dude.”

Derek lets his eyes slip shut as he sighs, but he turns around. Stiles strips off his khakis and wads them up in front of his crotch when he sits down. “Ok.”

Derek stares at Stiles’s legs for long enough that Stiles looks down too. 

“Oh. Right,” Stiles says as he shifts the pile of pants to one side, uncovering his red-streaked thigh. 

Derek leans in close, staring intently before leaning even closer and inhaling just inches from the wound. Stiles forgets to breathe until Derek starts poking at the skin close to the puncture. 

“Hey!” 

“You’re fine.” 

“I know! I already told you that!” Stiles clamps his eyes shut and tries to just breathe through the pain, which is back with a vengeance after Derek’s none-too-gentle prodding. He almost jumps out of his skin when he feels Derek slide a hand up his leg. “What the … holy … oh my g--” He breathes out a hazy sigh. “Dsithurtyou?” he slurs, watching the black lines snake up Derek’s hand. He feels Derek shrug. 

“Thanks, dude,” he mumbles when the pain is completely gone. He’s totally relaxed for a second but he goes completely rigid, eyes wide as he stares down where Derek’s hand still rests on his thigh. Derek jerks away, shoving his hands in his pockets as he takes a big step back. 

“Go home, Stiles.” 

Stiles looks down at his watch with a grimace that he forces into a smile. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. I should go. … Uh, thanks again. I’ll just … ” he jerks a thumb toward the Jeep and doesn’t let the smile slip until his back is to Derek. The bang startles him and he whips back around. “The fuck???” 

Derek whips another rock at the crumbling side of the house so fast that his arm’s a blur. He gets through half the pile before turning back to look at Stiles and holding a rock out toward him. 

Stiles blinks at him a couple times before jogging over. They take turns for a few minutes until the pile has disappeared.

“Sledgehammer’d be faster.” 

It makes Derek laugh, surprising both of them. 

“Or, like a bulldozer?” 

Derek just hums. 

“Are you going to, you know, rebuild? Here?” 

Derek shakes his head and Stiles doesn’t expect any more information, but Derek says quietly with his head bowed, “Plant trees here. Build closer to the pond, maybe. Eventually.” 

“Yeah. Yeah, that sounds good, man. Good idea.”

Derek looks up at him, and he seems so fragile that Stiles holds his breath to keep from shattering the moment. When Derek looks back down at his own hands, Stiles asks, “What, uh, what kind of house would you build? Uh … big like this? Or a little cabin in the woods?* Shit, no, cabin in the woods never ends well.” 

Derek huffs a half-laugh at that. “Not sure yet. Depends.” 

Stiles doesn’t know what he means by that, but he nods anyway. When Derek doesn’t say anything else, Stiles checks his watch again. “Uh, Dad should be up soon. I’ll just head home. Thanks, though, for ... I’ll see you … later.” He turns and heads to the Jeep.

“Stiles.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Pants?” 

Stiles stares down at his legs in horror and then scans the forest floor frantically for his clothes. Derek just points to where they’d fallen next to the porch. 

“Well, that’s not embarrassing at all,” Stiles mumbles as he zips up, refusing to look at Derek again before he drives off to the rhythmic _thunk, thunk, thunk_ of more rocks hitting wood.

**Author's Note:**

> * [Cabin in the Woods movie trailer](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NsIilFNNmkY)


End file.
